


Settling Old Scores

by little0bird



Series: Spring Returning [11]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bear Pit Rumors, Brienne gets revenge for the dance, Defending Brienne, Domestic Jaime/Brienne, F/M, Ghost is a good boy, Jaime has to socialize, Oathfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 02:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21330865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: ‘Just as well,’ Connington grunted. ‘Had she been naked, the bear might have fled in fright! And then there wouldn’t have been any sport.’Jaime couldn’t help himself. His right arm shot out, and the hook twisted in the front of Connington’s surcoat. He shoved his face into Connington’s with a barely-suppressed snarl. ‘You insulted me. You insulted my wife. You’re a disgrace to the title of knight. Ser Brienne is a nobler and truer knight than you have ever been and hope to be.’  For the first time, Jamie missed the golden hand. He wanted nothing more than to smash the smirk from Connington’s face. He settled for slamming the younger man against a pillar before turning away in disgust.‘Fucking cunt,’ Connington muttered.Jaime snapped. He whirled around and his hand flew through the air, curling into a fist.  Jaime smiled with grim satisfaction as his fist smashed into Connington’s mouth, and blood poured from his split lip.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Spring Returning [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1392991
Comments: 10
Kudos: 97





	Settling Old Scores

Brienne sat on one of the low garden walls overlooking Shipbreaker Bay, in a quiet corner, her legs stretched out in front of her, leaning back against a pillar. Nikolas was draped against her chest, sleeping soundly. Seeing her there reminded Jaime of another time. Another life. When the Queen of Thorns still reigned, and Margaery and Loras -- her golden roses -- brightened the garden. And he would manufacture any excuse to steal a moment in the sunny garden with Brienne. Ever practical, she wore the same blue tunic he’d had made for her then. His mouth curved into a small smile. 

Her eyelids fluttered open and she saw him standing at the end of the graveled path. She gestured with her head that he should join them. He began to walk toward Brienne, watching her tilt her face to the sun. Sunlight suited her in a way that candlelight did not. The summer had brought out the freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks. He’d tried to count them numerous times before, but her wandering hands distracted him, and he always lost his place. Jaime hoped Nikolas would go to sleep early tonight. He was due to try counting Brienne’s freckles again. He cupped his hand over Nikolas’ head. ‘Shall I take him?’ he murmured, so as not to wake the child. Brienne shook her head. Jaime squatted next to the wall, stifling a grunt when his knees protested. ‘Do you really need to go to Winterfell?’ he asked, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

‘I promised that if she were to ever have a child, I would be with her for the birth.’ She shifted Nikolas slightly, and swung her feet to the ground, giving the space next to her a pointed glance. Jaime slid onto the wall. ‘She spent two days listening to me curse the hour I met you. It is the very least I can do.’ Nikolas stirred, and Brienne automatically began to pat his back until he settled against her once more. ‘And she has no one, save for Tyrion. And can you imagine him being of much use during a birth?’ she scoffed.

‘He might finally get to finish his ass and honeycomb joke,’ Jaime mused. ‘Captive audience and all.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Your father wants to introduce me to some of the other Stormlords.’

‘Good. Then _ you _ can deal with the pigheaded twits.’

‘Why do I have to deal with them? I’m not going to inherit. This is why I never wanted the Rock, you know.’ Jaime’s lower lip stuck out slightly in a pout.

‘You’ll be at my right hand,’ Brienne told him gravely. ‘Where I will need you.’ She scowled. ‘And you can tell them the exact thing I’ve said a hundred times, and they’ll listen to you simply because you have a cock,’ she grumbled. 

‘So I’m doing this for you?’

‘Yes.’

Jaime heaved himself to his feet. ‘I demand recompense later.’

‘I’ve asked the castle maids to move the crib into Father’s chamber for the night,’ Brienne told him, studying her fingernails. ‘You can try counting my freckles. Again.’

A burst of laughter drifted to their end of the garden. Jaime’s mouth tightened in distaste at the prospect of playing politics. ‘I suppose we must all make sacrifices.’ He bowed slightly. ‘I look forward to finally coming to a full accounting of your freckles, my lady.’ Jaime bent and kissed Brienne, then turned and made his way through the twisting graveled paths until he met Selwyn, who gazed at a brightly dressed knot of lords in one of the upper level pavilions in the gardens.

Selwyn gestured to them. ‘Those are the ones you need to meet. The other Stormlords. Most of ‘em took on the estates while Brienne was traipsing through the Riverlands with you. Lot of young pups who barely know to hold their cock to piss.’ His eyes swiveled to one redheaded man with griffins worked into the fabric of his belted surcoat. ‘That one… Ser Ronnet Connington. Can charm the birds from the trees, but knows how to use words like weapons. Especially if you antagonize him.’

‘Or what? My nonexistent reputation will suffer?’

‘It could. Brienne’s most likely. She’s always been a favorite target of his.’

Jaime sank to the top of the low wall that edged the garden paths. ‘Explain.’

Selwyn joined him, glancing up at the men. ‘Has Brienne ever told you about her sixteenth name day?’

‘You held a ball, and the boys were unkind to her.’

‘And Renly Baratheon treated her with basic human decency and courtesy. Earned her devotion. Had to tell her he was a pillow-biter later…’ Selwyn ran a hand over his beard. He gestured with his chin to Ronnet Connington. ‘That one was the instigator.’

Jaime sighed. He hoped, rather than believed that the lords had been rude because they were young, not because they enjoyed tormenting others. ‘Should I be charming or merely polite?’

‘Polite will do. Most of ‘em are minor lords. Even more minor than me.’ Jaime snorted. Merely by virtue of being an island and isolated from the near-constant upheaval in Westeros in the wake of Robert’s death and Jon’s ascension to the throne, Evenfall was second only to Storm’s End in the Stormlands. ‘More than a few have been gagging to try and arrange a marriage between Nikolas and one of their daughters,’ Selwyn continued.

‘He’s just a baby,’ Jamie objected. 

Selwyn snorted. ‘He’s two. Parents often arrange marriages for babes in the cradle. As you well know.’

Jamie shifted uncomfortably. ‘We haven’t discussed arranging a marriage for Nikolas.’ He didn’t care for the idea of promising to wed Nikolas to someone sight unseen and not know if they would suit one another. He’d watched the slow, painful deterioration of Robert and Cersei’s marriage that had begun before the pigeon pie from their wedding feast turned cold.

‘No rush,’ Selwyn rumbled. 

Jaime stood and straightened his jerkin. ‘What if they recognize me?’

Selwyn rose and studied Jaime, then adjusted the angle of the sigil pinned at the collar of his jerkin. ‘They won’t. If you could stand next to Edmure Tully during the wedding feast and listen to him prattle nonsense for the better part of an hour, and him not recognize you…’

‘Edmure Tully is an idiot.’

Selwyn chuckled, clapping Jaime on the shoulder. ‘You’re not wrong. But Edmure Tully is also a snob. Just like them.’ Selwyn nodded to the group of men, whose raucous laughter floated down to them. ‘They won’t look past your clothes and sigil.’ Jaime brushed his palm over the front of his plain wool jerkin. Nothing about his current life even whispered Lannister. ‘Come on. I’ll introduce you.’ He led Jaime toward the knot of Stormlords. Most of them were indeed quite young, although, lately, anyone who was younger than thirty seemed to be little more than a child. Jaime guessed many of them had been born years after Robert’s Rebellion. He breathed a little easier. The face that looked back at him in the mirror in the mornings bore little resemblance to the man they might have remembered as part of Robert’s Kingsguard. ‘My lords!’ Selwyn hailed them in a genial voice. ‘May I introduce my good-son?’ 

The redhead -- _ Connington, _Jaime told himself, hooted with derisive laughter, then flicked the Tarth sigil on Jaime’s jerkin. ‘What sort of man takes on his wife’s name?’

Jaime felt the warning squeeze on his elbow from Selwyn. ‘A poor one,’ he said, with a self-deprecating smile. While it was true that Jaime Lannister had gold stashed somewhere, dead men didn’t need gold. Tyrion might have been able to get it to him, but anything belonging to the Lannisters had been forfeited to the Iron Bank years ago.

Connington punched Jaime lightly on the shoulder. ‘I suppose a man will put up almost anything for an estate like Tarth.’ He turned to his friends. ‘Including bedding Brienne the Beauty.’ His friends joined his bawdy cackles.

Jaime’s fist clenched. Every muscle was as taut as a bowstring. Nearly ten years after the loss of his hand, his instincts screamed at him to protect Brienne with a blade. He took in a deep breath, reminding himself to use words and forced his fingers to unfurl.

One of the men, dressed in the colors of House Swann gave Jaime a slow look from the toes of Jaime’s serviceable boots, pausing at the hook at the end of his right arm, then ended on his face. ‘Have you known her long?’

‘Long enough,’ Jaime replied evenly. 

Connington prodded Jaime’s arm. ‘Perhaps you can settle a debate, then.’ Jaime stiffened, but nodded all the same. ‘We heard a rumor that Brienne had to fight a bear. Is it true?’

‘It is.’ Jaime didn’t even want to think about how the story had changed as it traveled from Harrenhal to the Stormlands.

It seemed to amuse Connington and the rest of the lords. Connington howled with laughter. ‘That must have been a sight!’ he gasped, trying to catch his breath, elbowing one of his companions in the ribs. 

‘I beg your pardon?’ Jaime asked, a growing sense of unease simmering in his belly.

Another young lord, with a sigil of a yellow shield adorned with flying black nightingales didn’t seem to see the burgeoning rage in Jaime’s eyes. He waved a hand at Jaime. ‘Is it true that she was nude?’

Jaime heard Selwyn’s sharp intake of breath. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Selwyn a small shake of the head. ‘She wore a dress.’

Connington sneered, ‘How do you know? Were you there?’

‘No, but when I fought at Winterfell, I heard about it from people that were, including the lady herself,’ he lied. He squarely met Connington’s skeptical gaze. ‘And I have no reason to believe she was telling anything other than the truth.’

‘Just as well,’ Connington grunted. ‘Had she been naked, the bear might have fled in fright! And then there wouldn’t have been any sport.’

Jaime couldn’t help himself. His right arm shot out, and the hook twisted in the front of Connington’s surcoat. He shoved his face into Connington’s with a barely-suppressed snarl. ‘You insulted me. You insulted my wife. You’re a disgrace to the title of knight. _ Ser _Brienne is a nobler and truer knight than you have ever been and hope to be.’ For the first time, Jamie missed the golden hand. He wanted nothing more than to smash the smirk from Connington’s face. He settled for slamming the younger man against a pillar before turning away in disgust. 

‘Fucking cunt,’ Connington muttered. 

Jaime snapped. He whirled around and his hand flew through the air, curling into a fist. Jaime smiled with grim satisfaction as his fist smashed into Connington’s mouth, and blood poured from his split lip. 

* * *

Podrick paced around the graveled paths keeping a watchful eye on the knots of people scattered through the gardens. He heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight and broke into a run, skidding to a halt next to Brienne’s father. Podrick didn’t stop to think, or even to consider why a group of young lords, some not much older than he, surrounded Jaime. Two held Jaime’s arms back, and another had his fist drawn back, ready to drive it into Jaime’s belly, so Podrick launched himself at the man knocking him to the ground.

* * *

‘Podrick!’ Brienne pushed her way through the throng surrounding Jaime and Podrick, Nikolas balanced on her hip. 

Podrick looked up, one hand fisted in a man’s tunic, the other pulled back, ready to drive his fist into the man’s face. ‘M’lady… I mean Ser.’

Brienne scowled in abject disapproval. ‘What are you doing?’

The man under Podrick hawked and spat in Podrick’s face. Podrick loosed his arrested punch, leaving the other man in a daze. ‘Fighting, m’lady,’ he said in his mild voice. ‘I heard the commotion and saw it was all of them --’ Podrick gestured to the young lords, some sporting contusions and bloody noses. ‘ Against Ser Jaime, and thought I could help even the odds a bit.’ He trailed off and shrugged, scrambling off the man, managing to very deliberately step on his hand. The man yowled in pain.

‘I expect better from you,’ Brienne huffed. ‘You’re in the Kingsguard.’ She turned her censorious gaze to Jaime. He hadn’t escaped unscathed. Blood trickled from a cut on his face, and one eye was rapidly swelling shut. ‘And you…’ 

Jaime grinned boyishly at her, his head nodding in a short bow. ‘Lady Brienne.’ He gestured toward the man he held against one of the pillars in the garden with an arm pressed against the man’s windpipe. ‘He impugned your honor and prowess with a sword.’

‘Did he?’

‘Unequivocally.’ 

Brienne gazed around the pavilion. A handful of the lords had been squires or young knights at Evenfall before she’d left to join Renly. She remembered each and every snicker and barbed insult from them. ‘In that case, do you require assistance?’ She handed Nikolas to Selwyn. 

Jaime rolled his forearm a little, increasing the pressure on the man’s throat. ‘I’m all right. Just getting acquainted with my friend here from…’ He peered at the man’s sigil. ‘House Wylde, is it?’ The man let out a strangled moan. Brienne gave him a small smile and turned back to Podrick just in time to see the lord of House Errol hurl himself onto Podrick’s back. She yanked the young lord of Haystack Hall away from Podrick and delivered a well-timed kick to his arse that sent him careening into the shrubbery. Jaime jerked his head toward Brienne. ‘That’s my wife,’ he informed Lord Wylde. ‘Magnificent, isn’t she?’ 

Brienne whirled at the sounds of footfalls on the gravel path, and came face to face with Connington for the first time in twenty years. Her smile widened. ‘I should have done this to you when I was sixteen,’ she said. Before he could react, Brienne’s hands grasped Connington by the shoulders and she rammed her knee into his crotch. She released him, and Connington crumpled to the ground, hands clasped to his cock, gurgling. Brienne stood over him. ‘You belittled me when I was a little girl,’ she told him in a voice as cold as the Wall itself. ‘I’ve been dreaming of knocking you into the dust ever since.’ Her lip curled in disdain. She kicked dirt into his face for good measure as she turned, knowing it was far beneath her, but enjoying it all the same.

Jaime turned back to Lord Wylde. ‘We like a good fight. Gets the juices flowing.’ He gave Lord Wilde a light slap to the face, then released the man, who promptly slid to the ground, wheezing. Jaime bowed formally. ‘Lady Brienne.’

One of Brienne’s brows rose. ‘Ser Jaime.’

Pod brushed himself, then glared at the rest of the young Stormlords. ‘If I were you,’ he began, ‘I might find it in my best interest to leave. Today.’

‘Who are you to give me orders?’ the lord of House Lonmouth demanded.

Pod straightened his shoulders. The sun flashed on his golden armor, its Northern style marking him as one of the two members of the Kingsguard from the North. ‘I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,’ he said quietly, with a dangerous edge to his voice.

‘What gives you that right?’ Connington choked from the ground. He’d managed to sit up, but still kept a hand clasped over his cock.

‘I do.’ The crowd parted with murmurs of “Your Grace,” and a flurry of bows and curtsies. Jon was a dark shadow in his plain black clothing amongst the jewel-bright tones of the court. ‘I understand you’ve insulted two o’ me closest allies,’ Jon remarked in an even voice. He smiled, but there was no humor in it. ‘They fought wi’ me against the Night King and the army o’ the dead. Where were you?’ Connington and the other lords gaped at Jon. ‘You have until dawn to leave King’s Landing, as Ser Podrick has said.’ Jon told them, as Ghost seemingly materialized out of thin air, growling just loud enough to be heard, lips pulled back from his teeth. His battle scars and glowing red eyes made him look even more menacing. Jon stroked the direworf’s head until the growling faded. ‘If you’re still here, the city guard will escort you out.’ He turned to Jaime and Brienne with a short nod. ‘Sers.’ He began to walk away, ‘Ghost. To me.’ The direwolf snapped his teeth at Connington, who whimpered, eyes bulging with terror, and then trotted off after Jon, docile as a newborn lamb. Jaime nudged Brienne in the side and cocked his head toward Connington. A spreading wet splotch had appeared on the crotch of his trousers as Ghost’s tail disappeared around a corner. 

Brienne’s lips twitched. ‘And Ghost was the runt of his litter.’ She took Jaime’s arm and headed for the half-completed wing of the castle where their chamber was located, followed by Selwyn and Nikolas. 

‘Can they see us?’ Jaime muttered. 

Brienne glanced over her shoulder. ‘No.’

‘Oh, thank the gods…’ Jaime slumped against her, and Brienne staggered a little at his unexpected weight. 

Brienne peered at Jaime, running her hands over his chest. ‘Are you badly hurt?’

He shook his head ruefully. ‘I need to remind myself I’m forty-five and not fifteen,’ he groaned. ‘I hope the gods sent Euron Greyjoy to the seventh hell,’ Jaime groused, rubbing the left side of his arse. Anything more strenuous than a brisk walk was painful. The fight had been immeasurably foolish. ‘If you could give me your arm, though?’ He wound his arm through the crook of Brienne’s elbow, feeling no shame at all in requiring her support. They resumed the walk back into the Red Keep, Jaime noticeably limping. Once inside their chamber, she deposited him into a chair. Brienne busied herself with heating water, collecting cloths and soap, rummaging in their things for the small pot of salve she was wont to use on small cuts and scrapes. 

Brienne sat across from Jaime and dropped a cloth into a bowl of warm, soapy water. She began to dab at the cut on his face and Jaime jerked away, hissing. Brienne snorted. ‘Don’t be such a baby,’ she huffed.

‘That hurts,’ Jaime protested. 

‘You’re the one who got into a fight.’

‘I was defending you,’ Jaime retorted.

Brienne glared at him, throwing the cloth into the bowl with unnecessary force, making water slosh over the edge. ‘I can defend myself!’

‘I know you can!’ Jaime clenched his jaw and throttled his voice down to something more conversational. ‘You don’t always have to.’

Brienne pursed her lips and retrieved the cloth. She held Jaime’s chin firmly in one hand, while she cleaned the blood from his face. ‘Thank you.’ Her eyes flicked to his. ‘How did it feel to punch Connington?’

Jaime grinned. ‘Nearly as good as smacking one of the Freys with my gold hand.’ He nudged Brienne’s ankle with his foot. ‘How did it feel to crush his balls?’

‘Better than when I shoved Sandor Clegane off a cliff.’


End file.
